


Life Without You

by ArchangelEquinox



Series: Once More to the Breach [18]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Marriage Proposal, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Doom Upon All the World, Skyhold, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelEquinox/pseuds/ArchangelEquinox
Summary: Cullen tries to figure out how to ask the Inquisitor to marry him.Or, Five times Cullen thought about proposing, and the one time he actually did.





	Life Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Not that I don't love Trespasser's proposal/wedding -- I'm just a sucker for the 5x1 story trope
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

The first time it occurred to Cullen that he wanted to marry Talia Trevelyan happened the night of their victory over Corypheus.

An enormous party had erupted inside the Great Hall with her party’s return from the Temple, all laughter and shouting and the release of the long-held fear that somehow, after everything they’d done, they might lose.  Everywhere he looked, soldiers drank and danced, nobles chatted and ate tiny cakes, and even the most skittish of mages and Templars had joined their compatriots to celebrate. Varric and Sera told loud inappropriate stories to anyone who would listen, Cassandra actually laughing nearby, while Dorian laughed with Krem, Bull, and Lysette (of all people).  Vivienne was busy hoisting enormous, enchanted embrium blossoms into the air, their pollen sparkling green and gold onto the celebration below.  Solas was nowhere to be found, a passing thought before Cullen’s attention was drawn by a giggling Josephine, who was being led off into the courtyard by Blackwall.  

He smiled to think of the Ambassador and the Warden happy together.  They deserved it – everyone did after the unholy grind of the past months. 

When Talia stepped into the Great Hall, Cullen almost spouted a fumbling proposal on the spot. 

The thought was sheer primal instinct; she radiated energy and joy as she stood atop the dais that held her throne, eyes bright despite the exhaustion of a fresh fight and shoulders squared now that they no longer held the weight of the world.  She’d stepped out after her party’s initial arrival back at Skyhold, citing the grime that covered all of them as reason enough to delay the party.  Josephine – and everyone else who had been left behind to chew fingernails and rub their necks raw with anxiety – had chosen to start the celebration without her. 

Cullen had happily joined them.  He knew Talia needed the chance to compose herself, mentally and emotionally, before she could face the Inquisition.  He’d felt the desperation and fear in her grip when she leapt into his arms on the staircase, and selfish man that he was, he had held her just a little too long, grateful to have her safely home, to have their foe defeated and their future secured. 

He hadn’t known how to articulate it.  So he’d left her to some well-deserved peace, even as his instincts had him glancing at the door to her quarters every thirty seconds, reassuring himself she was alive. 

Future became love, as it always did when she was out of his sight, and love became marriage when she finally returned to savor her victory.  It was the first time he’d allowed himself to think it. 

Only the sudden, hearty slap of Iron Bull’s palm on his shoulder stopped him from asking then and there, without another thought, and even so, he knew he blushed red enough to give himself away. 

Everyone else assumed it was lust, and not love, that so burned his cheeks. 

Cullen would have argued except that when Talia did eventually find her way to his side, she announced herself via a slap on the arse and pulled him up to her quarters behind her. 

\---

Dorian wheedled it out of him the second time. 

They were playing chess in the gardens as they so often did, Dorian using a wineglass to gesture while Cullen pondered his next move over a cup of tea. 

When from nowhere Dorian announced, “You’ll be proposing to Talia any day now, I assume,” Cullen choked.  The cup went tumbling to the stone as he coughed up a lungful of tea, and the man across from him leaned back nonchalantly, satisfied with this reaction. 

“Maker’s breath, Dorian,” Cullen grumbled as he regained control over himself.  “Warn a man before you say something like that.” 

Dorian grinned and knotted his fingers behind his head.  “Where’s the fun in that?” 

“I don’t know why the Inquisitor puts up with you,” he replied, though he knew the answer. 

“With me?”  The mage accused.  “Why, Cullen, it’s been months since Corypheus –”

“Not even two weeks.” 

He huffed at him.  “I was going to say since he attacked Haven, you lout.” 

Cullen glared as he knelt to pick up the porcelain remains of his teacup.  “The Inquisitor and I are the only thing standing between you and Tevinter,” he grumbled.  “Don’t make me second-guess your value now that we’re not at war.” 

“I’m scandalized that you’d even consider that.  Skyhold would fall apart without me.”  Cullen threw a piece of the teacup at him.  “Ow!” 

Cullen neatly deposited the remaining pieces into Dorian’s lap and sat back down.  “How it hasn’t fallen apart with you, I have no idea,” he muttered.  Across from him, Dorian huffed once more and flung the cup back to the ground. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he snapped when Cullen moved to pick it up again. 

“This is why I should let Tevinter have you.” 

Dorian leaned in conspiratorially, fingers steepled against one another.   “Do that, and you’ll never marry the Inquisitor.” 

Cullen arched an eyebrow at him.  “Who, uh, says I was going to propose?”  He felt warmth creeping up his neck and inwardly cursed. 

Dorian, who’d spent what felt like years learning how to get him to admit things he didn’t want to say, grinned.  “I’d always assumed, Commander, but that lovely color you’re turning confirms that you’ve already considered it.  Spill.” 

“Dorian, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”   He studied the board resolutely, refusing to let the look on his face give him away.  Again. 

Across the table, Dorian shifted in his seat.  “I’ll make you a deal, Commander,” he said, and Cullen glanced up before he could stop himself.  The mage grinned. “For every thought in that pretty head you share, I’ll give you back one of the pieces I’ve nicked.” 

Cullen studied him.  “Every piece you’ve nicked today, or over the last year?”  He asked finally, and Dorian rolled his eyes. 

“I haven’t ruined that many of your chess sets, now have I, Commander?” 

Cullen blinked at him.  “Three, Dorian.  Three of them are missing pieces.  One was a gift from the Inquisitor.” 

“Have you ever thought to look in her underwear drawer?” 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“And you love me.” 

“Debatable.” 

Dorian pressed a hand to his heart.  “You wound me, Cullen.  Now, do we have a deal?” 

The Commander leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.  “If you agree to my terms.”  He didn’t really want to talk about proposing – he’d barely had time to think about it himself, for Andraste’s sake! – but he also doubted Dorian’s willingness to reveal all the places he’d squirrelled away stolen pieces. 

If he could get the chess set from Talia back in one piece, however, it might be worth it. 

Across from him, Dorian shrugged.  “Fine.  Start talking.” 

Right. 

Cullen turned back to the board and moved a pawn.  “I… don’t know, really.  I hadn’t thought of a future before, and now…”  He watched Dorian capture his pawn and step into the trap he’d set on the board.  Swiftly he moved his knight into position.  “Now suddenly we have time.  Together, I mean.  The Inquisition still needs us, but we’re aren’t likely to die at any moment, and so I don’t… there’s so much that’s…  Oh, Maker’s breath, Dorian, I have no idea what to do!” 

He was babbling.  For so long now, he’d been able to overcome the anxiety that fluttered in his chest at the thought of a future with the Inquisitor, and all it took was one not-so-innocent question from Dorian, and he was a wreck again. 

Thankfully, the smile on the mage’s face shifted from malicious to kind.  “That’s why you have me, Commander.”  He moved a castle, ignoring the knight Cullen had so carefully placed, and turned his full attention to Cullen.  “So.  You want to marry her, yes?” 

Cullen knew his face was flaming, but his voice was steady.  “Absolutely.” 

“Does she want to marry you?” 

He’d been reaching for a piece, but his hand froze in mid-air.  “I um…” 

To his surprise, Dorian laughed.  “I honestly didn’t think that would throw you, but I should have known,” he chuckled.  “Of course she does.” 

Relief crashed over him.  “You’re sure?” 

“Unless the phrase ‘do you think Cullen might propose’ means something else to Fereldans, Commander, yes I’m sure.”  He twirled his queen in his fingers before depositing it on the board. 

“She asked you that?” 

“Just before the battle with Corypheus.” 

Cullen sat back, the board between them a blur.  “Maker’s breath, that was two weeks ago!” 

That grin was back.  “Perhaps a plan would be a good place to start?” 

That he could manage, even if he’d never let himself get that far before.  “I’ll… need a ring.” 

“And a place,” Dorian added.  “Perhaps some flowers too.” 

“Maker’s breath, what will I say?” 

“I’d figure that out if I were you.” 

Cullen glared.  “Thank you Dorian, I hadn’t considered that.” 

One eyebrow arched practically into his perfect hair.  “Are you sassing me, Commander?  I’m only trying to help, but if you’d prefer to do this alone…”  He made to get up, and Cullen’s hand shot out to grab his arm. 

“No, no, please,” he blurted out.  Dorian sat back down, looking satisfied. 

“I’m pleased to know you need my expertise,” he said, gratified, just as the Inquisitor walked up behind him in one of her signature interruptions.

“What’s Cullen need your help with now?”  She asked as she stepped around the mage to kiss Cullen’s cheek. 

“Nothing,” they both said, and though Dorian looked smooth and collected as ever, Cullen knew he’d blushed again.  Before she could question them further, Dorian popped out of his seat. 

“I’ll leave you kids to it,” he announced, and guided Talia into his seat.  “We’ll chat later, Cullen.” 

“Goodbye, Dorian,” he ground out, eyes glued to the board.  He didn’t notice Talia smiling at him. 

“See you later,” she added. 

Dorian started away, only turning back when he was nearly at the door to the keep. 

“And Commander?” Cullen looked up.  “That piece you’re looking for? Top drawer, far left, inside that spicy little red number from Antiva.” 

Cullen stared after him, mouth hanging open.  Opposite him, Talia rolled her eyes.  “Is he hiding chess pieces in my underwear again?” 

Cullen groaned and hid his face behind his gloves.  “Maker’s breath.” 

\---

Harritt was still working on the ring, and Cullen still had no plan at all the third time. 

The Inquisitor was stationed in the Frostback Basin.  What had been a simple mission of clearing out hostile natives had (of course) turned into a massive hide-and-seek quest with a dragon as the prize.   She’d been gone for weeks, her party exhausted as they moved from camp to camp in search of Ameridan’s final resting place. 

Cullen, like always, had been left behind. 

When a raven arrived to announce their ultimate victory over the Hakkonites, Leliana had kindly encouraged him to attend the celebration at Stone Bear Hold.  She’d hardly finished speaking before Cullen was mounted up and on his way. 

The rhythmic pounding of the drums drew him up the mountain into the Hold, where he found a vast celebration already in progress.  Avvar warriors and augurs and everything in between danced, shouted, cheered, fought, their celebration so different and yet so similar to the Great Hall after Corypheus.  They, like the Inquisition, had held onto that tension for so long, and their relief, like his, was overwhelming. 

Cullen's anxiety, however, ratcheted ever higher as he roamed the Hold in his Inquisition armor, his coat somehow perfectly at home among the furs of the Avvar.  He couldn't find anyone he recognized, and even after a lifetime of wandering alone, he had never learned to be comfortable with it.   A passing Inquisition scout took pity on him and pointed him toward the Thane’s seat under the mountain, and he could just see Iron Bull’s horns in the distance as he passed yet another painted warrior.  It wasn’t until the warrior grabbed his arm that he gave her a second look. 

It was the Inquisitor. 

Her entire body was slashed with black and white body paint, a dark line across her eyes making her unrecognizable.  Her hair was pulled back, a dagger belt hung low across her hips, and… and… 

Cullen blushed hard and averted his eyes. 

He hadn’t realized that, at least on top, she was wearing the paint and little else. 

“Well hello to you too, Commander,” she teased, those green eyes sparkling, and he managed to look up. 

“I… didn’t recognize you,” he admitted, keeping his gaze resolutely on her face. 

She arched a white eyebrow, but the movement was barely visible under all the paint.  “That was rather the point.”  She gestured at herself.  “Do you like it?  Avvar tradition says that you should wear the armor of your enemies to celebrate your victory, and Dorian happened to have some handy.  It’s a little different from that time I tried painting myself.” 

His gaze inadvertently dropped as he fought down the heat in his belly.  He certainly remembered that time with the paint.  With a start, he realized he was staring at her chest.  “Maker’s breath, I apologize,” he forced out, bring his gaze up to meet hers again.  “I don’t know where to look.” 

Talia stepped closer until the tip of his sword pommel pressed into her bare, painted belly.  “Look wherever you like, Commander,” she teased, her voice dropping.  Cullen swallowed. 

With a deep breath, he reached for her and settled one hand on her waist.  He'd expected her to feel cold, or oily what with the paint, but instead her skin was dry and warm, comforting like all the times he'd reached for her in the night.  Pulling her close, he bent to kiss her. 

"You know," she began as their lips brushed.  "I got you a set too." 

Cullen pulled back abruptly.  "A set… of what?" 

Talia wiggled her eyebrows.  "Avvar armor.  It's from Stone Bear Hold, so it's more fur and less paint, I promise."  She made a show of running her eyes down his body before lazily meeting his gaze once more.  "I just wasn't expecting to see you so soon to… try it." 

He was suddenly certain his breeches were too tight. 

"Maker's breath, woman, I am --" 

"The Commander of the Inquisition, I know," she finished, one hand trailing down his breastplate to grab onto his belt.  When he bit back a smart remark, she smirked and tugged him closer.  "Remember how you didn't recognize me at first?" 

Cullen swallowed again and nodded. 

"And I said that was the point, that nobody recognized me as the Inquisitor?" 

He nodded again, not quite sure he followed. 

"Wouldn't it be nice not to be the Commander for an evening?" 

Oh, the peace Cullen could imagine if he weren't the Commander.  No one shouting for him to break up fights or demanding strategies to win wars.  No troop movements to plan.  No recruits for him to train or letters to answer. 

And for her to not be the Inquisitor, just for a moment! No one demanding she make impossible decisions, and no more of his heart breaking for her that she'd be called to do what no one else would.  It had been a dilemma in more of their lives that he wanted to admit, the dual nature of their complicated relationship.  To have the chance to put that down, if only for a night…

With a burst of daring, he yanked her flush against him.  "Where can I change?" 

One hut, several attempts, and fifteen minutes later, and the Commander and the Inquisitor were no more.  Instead, two Avvar warriors, one painted, the other loinclothed and blushing, weaved their way through the celebration only to steal away with a wineskin and a torch.  They ventured down quieter paths around the Hold, dodging Inquisition scouts and companions until they found a bonfire burning away under a cliff-side overhang, and there they collapsed to enjoy a little well-earned peace. 

Much later, when Talia’s body paint was smeared and Cullen’s oddly familiar fur pauldrons were long gone, they built the fire back up and settled in together, passing the wineskin back and forth as twilight stretched into night around them.  Cullen leaned against the stone wall of their refuge, back cool against the stone, and Talia nestled between his outstretched legs.  He’d put the loincloth… armor… thing back on so he didn’t feel completely ridiculous.  To his surprise though, he was comfortable in that alone.    

He suspected that had more to do with the Inquisitor than it did the loincloth. 

In his lap, Talia ran her fingertips up and down his bare legs, leaving little paint trails in her wake. “It’s nice not to be the Inquisitor for a while,” she whispered, leaning her head back onto his shoulder. 

Cullen tightened his arms around her.   They'd be white and stained when he inevitably let her go, but he didn't care.  He’d forgotten how nice it was not to be the Commander.  “I am thankful you talked me into it,” he said.  Seized with sudden urgency, he squeezed her close and kissed her hair.  “I cannot imagine my life without you,” he told her softly.  “I love you.” 

When Talia slung her arm around his neck and dragged him down to kiss her, he nearly asked her to marry him right there. 

The moment, sweet and tender though it was, slipped away when she twisted around to straddle his lap.   He tried to help, keeping his hands on her skin to guide her, but in their haste, he accidentally dug his fingertips into her ribs, sending her reeling with laughter. 

"Cullen!" She squealed, trying to wiggle away from his seeking hands, and that oft-forgotten playful side came out from wherever it'd been hiding.  He loosened his grip, fingers scouting toward all those sensitive spots as she laughed, and before long she'd sunk against him in a long, warm kiss that sent any foolish notions running for cover. 

"I love you so much," she said when they'd recovered their breath.  "Thank you for being here with me." 

He kissed her again.  "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." 

They gathered up their clothes to walk back to the Hold as the evening stretched toward dawn.  The Hold still thrummed with energy around them, but the walk to her borrowed house was peaceful, quiet, everything he'd hoped for when they'd put their mantles down for the night. 

As their fingers intertwined, he was again struck by how easily she slipped into his life, how she fit every empty space he didn't know he had.  He didn't want to spend even a minute without her. 

Then another thought occurred to him.  “Quizzie?” 

She squeezed his hand.  “Hm?” 

“If you fought a dragon… why are you wearing body paint?  That doesn’t sound like the armor of your enemy.” 

Talia considered this information for a moment before squeezing her eyes shut in frustration.  “Fuck!  Dorian!”  She stormed off, leaving him standing in front of their accommodations chuckling.   She so often wanted to believe the best of people, including her mischievous friends, that it sometimes backfired.  And he loved her for it. 

_Maker’s breath_ , but he needed a plan. 

\---

It was no surprise that Cullen could think of little else at Josephine and Blackwall’s wedding.  He knew he should be watching the bride and groom, happy couple that they were, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Talia. 

Since she was a bridesmaid, she couldn’t sit with him through the ceremony, nor eat with him at the reception, nor do anything really except make faces at him from her seat at the high table.  The question swirled through his mind all evening, through vows and hymns and toasts he didn’t hear a word of.  He did try not to jiggle his leg as he waited. 

It was all he could do to remind himself that he still needed to know what she wanted before he could ask her to marry him. 

At last the dancing started.  Iron Bull spun Talia around the floor once in the obligatory wedding party dance before she extricated herself, and moments later, drink in hand, she dropped into the vacant seat beside him. 

Cullen beamed at her.  She was wearing a surprisingly frilly dress for someone who hated getting dressed up – she’d worn a military uniform to the Winter Palace, after all – but she was smiling, and that’s all he cared about.  Within seconds, he pulled her into his lap and kissed her soundly, his heart so full from watching their friends happy and picturing the future he wanted with her. 

Talia kissed him back, though she was laughing when she pulled away.  “I think you’ve been drinking, Commander,” she teased, fingers combing through his hair.  “What’s gotten into you?” 

Cullen couldn’t stop himself; he hugged her tighter and pressed a line of kisses up her neck.  “I’m just happy,” he managed, voice low and warm.  “I like this.  I like being with our friends to celebrate.  I enjoy having you in my lap, and I’m… happy.”  He kissed her again.  “It’s rather new,” he added, seeing the surprise on her face, and she giggled before wiggling closer in his arms. 

“Me too,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Me too.” 

Together they sat and watched the bride and groom dance surrounded by the Inquisition.  Bull had finally convinced Dorian to dance with him, as if anyone didn’t know about their relationship.  And somewhere along the line, Cassandra and Varric had apparently connected, if their slow dance in the far corner was any indication. 

Cullen let his attention wander away from the woman in his arms the longer they sat, hoping his heart rate would slow so he could talk without blushing furiously and giving something away.  Eventually it worked, and he took a deep breath before nudging Talia gently. 

“Do you… that is, someday… would you, you know, like something like this?”  She shifted to look at him, fingers still playing with his hair.  “For us, I mean?” 

A sly smile crossed her face.  “You asking me something, Cullen?” 

“What? No!”  Heat bloomed across his cheeks.  “I was asking, I mean, I’m not sure what you wanted, and maybe… I don’t know, you could not even…”  He was rambling, trying not to say anything stupid, but thankfully Talia started laughing.  “Maker’s breath!” 

“Oh, Cully, I’m sorry,” she said, trying to hide her smile behind one hand.  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” 

“You didn’t!” He insisted, though his blush said otherwise.  “I’m just… curious?” 

“Cullen, I want you,” she said, suddenly serious, and heat flushed through his chest.  “I’d never thought about marriage until I met you, and I can’t see myself marrying anyone else.  But I’m not in any rush, and if it never happens, I’m fine with that too.”  She leaned in and kissed him softly.  “As long as we’re together, I’m happy.” 

Cullen clutched her jaw as he kissed her hard – too hard, perhaps, with all the alcohol and excitement and a reception still carrying on around them, but he couldn’t help himself.  He wanted to marry her, and she wanted to marry him, and there was so little left but to ask. 

“Well,” she managed when he let her go.  “I've had too much to drink to make that little speech."  She giggled in his arms and hopped up, draining the rest of her glass before reaching for him.  "Dance with me, Commander?" 

 Cullen stood and bowed like he had at the Winter Palace, the formal pose offset by how Talia couldn't stop laughing as she grabbed his hand and pulled him after her.  "Always, Inquisitor." 

\---

The fifth time Cullen almost proposed was supposed to be the night he actually proposed.  He’d planned it down to the smallest detail: just after sunset when the sky was still murky, surrounded by flowers and candles, a picnic dinner waiting on the blanket in the gazebo behind him.  He’d even memorized what he wanted to say (after he’d spent a week breaking quills trying to figure it out). 

Dorian had accused him of treating it like the assault on Adamant, which might have had some truth though Cullen was loathe to admit it.  He was just nervous, that age-old anxiety rearing up as he paced back and forth in the Skyhold gardens. 

He wanted it to be perfect. 

Thedas, however, did not agree. 

“Get the fuck away from me, Vivienne,” someone shouted from just beyond the door to the Great Hall.  He paused as he recognized the voice. “I don’t care what the Fereldan ambassador says, I am not sending the mages away after all this time!”   

“Inquisitor, you cannot antagonize them,” Vivienne’s collected voice answered, and Cullen cringed from where he’d frozen in the midst of the herb garden.  Talia never responded well to the Circle mage’s particular brand of passive-aggressive nonsense.   

He could practically see her advancing on the taller woman when she spoke. 

“Vivienne.  I will antagonize who I like, and I do not need your input or theirs.  The people of Thedas still need the Inquisition.  I would die before I let bullies like them push me into a corner!”  

The door to the gardens crashed open and Talia stormed through.  Behind her, Cullen could just see Vivienne, whose mouth had fallen open as she stared after the Inquisitor. 

“But, Inquisitor –”

“Fuck off, Madame de Fer!”  She slammed the door in Vivienne’s face, throwing the lock and giving it a few kicks for good measure.  “Mother of fuck! What the fuck is wrong with everyone today!”  

Cullen took a deep breath and tucked the ring box into his pocket.  “Inquisitor… Are you all right?” 

Talia spun, dagger already drawn, only to collapse with relief when she recognized him.  “Cullen… Thank the Maker.  Where have you been, I’ve been looking for you to help me escape all day.”  She sheathed the blade and stepped into his arms, wrapping herself around him.  “You would not believe the day I’ve had.” 

He held her gently, still not sure if she was okay.  “How can I help?” 

She kissed his cheek and stepped around him, heading for the gazebo.  “I hope you have wine in that picnic basket.” 

They stretched out together on the blanket and nibbled at the food Cullen had originally meant as a celebration while Talia raged against the nonsense that still surrounded the Inquisition.  The various ambassadors, led by Ferelden, were insisting she shackle the mages who had sought sanctuary with them, while the Chantry was trying to re-establish the Templar Order and wanted the Inquisition’s help.  Corypheus might be dead, but that did not mean they could rest. 

Talia, of course, was the center of it all. 

And she was livid. 

Cullen sat by, sipping a glass of some expensive champagne Dorian had procured, and listened.  He tried to keep himself collected despite the obvious hitch in his plan; he didn’t want to add to her stress, and while he didn’t like it, he could wait. 

Talia was just starting in on how ridiculous Leliana’s newest regulations as the Divine were when she suddenly paused and looked around.  Cullen watched her take everything in – the candles, the exotic flowers, the champagne in her hand – before she spoke. 

“Cullen,” she began slowly.  Her gaze gradually met his, eyes wide. “I interrupted something, didn’t I?”

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and he willed himself not to blush.  “Yes,” he admitted, knowing she’d already figure that out.  “But it’s nothing that won’t keep.”  It might kill him to keep it much longer, but for her, he could do anything. 

She gave him an incredulous look.  “You sure?” 

Cullen nodded.  “Absolutely.  Taking care of you is more important.” 

“Then thank you, for whatever this was.  Now,” she leaned over and undid the buckles on his breastplate and pauldrons, pushing them from his shoulders.  He caught his breastplate before it could slip and set it aside before shrugging out of his vest, careful to fold it around the box in the pocket. 

“I still hate those things,” she muttered before she tossed one leg over him and straddled his lap.  Cullen grasped her hips. 

“Talia, what are you –” 

She put a fingertip to his lips. “No talking.”  She bent to kiss him, running the tip of her tongue over his scar.  “I’ve had enough of people talking today.” 

“But –”

“Nope!”  She gently nipped his earlobe as her nimble fingers unlaced his shirt and sought his skin.  He shivered.  “You trust me, right?” 

He squeezed her hips before kissing one shoulder.  “Always.” 

“Good.”  With a tug, she peeled off his shirt.  Cullen followed her example, running his hands up her back to pulls hers off too, and suddenly, proposing was the last thing on his mind. 

\---

A note on the pillow beside him greeted him the next morning. 

_Went for tea,_ it read. _Back soon._  She’d drawn a tiny heart underneath the words. 

Cullen smiled to himself.  He might need a new plan, but the sentiment would never change.  Maybe Dorian would have a good idea for another romantic place, or maybe…

The door creaked open downstairs. 

“Cullen?” 

“Be right down,” he called, running a quick hand through his hair.  Talia certainly wouldn’t care if he looked a mess; she rather liked his hair curly anyway.  He did, however, need to put on some pants and perhaps rinse his mouth out. 

“No hurry,” she answered.  The soft clink of teacups on a tray echoed through his office as she put everything down on his desk.  No doubt she was settling herself in his chair, feet up on his reports.  It was a sight he loved, even if his organizational system suffered whenever she did it. 

The trousers he’d been wearing yesterday lay in a crumpled heap on the floor nearby.  He tugged them on, sloshed some water around his mouth, and climbed down the ladder into his office.  Too late he remembered he hadn’t put on a shirt.  Running a hand self-consciously over the scars on his shoulder, he made for the desk, and tea. 

Where he’d expected to see Talia’s bare toes wiggling above his reports, he instead found her standing holding a piece of parchment, mouth hanging open as she read. 

“Everything all right?”

She looked up guiltily, her face red.  “Cullen, what is this?” 

He picked up a cup and blew across its steaming surface.  “What is what?” 

“This.”  She brandished the parchment in his face, and he recoiled to take it from her. 

“Maker’s breath, I’m sure it’s just some stupid… troop report… shite.”  It was not.  It was in fact the letter to his sister he’d been drafting the day before – the one that proudly announced that he’d proposed.  That Talia would someday be his wife and Mia’s sister-in-law.  That babbled on about how he loved her and how happy he was, how he couldn’t wait for Mia to meet her, and –

“Is this… true?” 

Cullen swallowed.  Leaning around her, he set the teacup and letter down and reached for her hands.  “Yes,” he said slowly as he met her gaze.  “It’s just… a little premature.  I mean… I wanted to ask, but the timing didn’t work, and I…”

She was still staring at him.  “That’s what I interrupted last night. You were going to…” 

“Yes,” he repeated.  An idea struck him, and he pulled her closer until he could slide his arms around her waist.  “I love you, Talia, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you want to, that is.” 

Before him, Talia’s eyes were welling up, but that smile he so loved shone wide and bright.  “Of course I do, Cullen,” she managed, her voice thick. 

He smiled back.  “Will you – wait.”  Talia choked back whatever she’d been about to say and froze. 

“What?” 

Disengaging himself, Cullen dove for the ladder.  “I want to do this right,” he said as he scrambled up to the loft.  His vest, where was his vest? They’d brought all their clothes back with them last night, it had to be here somewhere, it just had to be… There!  It hung limp over his dresser where they’d thrown it. 

“Cullen?” 

“One moment!”  He pawed through its pockets before he came up with the ring box and shot back down the ladder like an avalanche.  Talia was waiting for him, her eyebrow raised even though she was laughing. 

“Everything okay?” 

Cullen knew his face and chest were red, but he straightened his shoulders and walked to her as confidently as possible.  He'd still forgotten a shirt.  “Now it is.”  He knelt slowly and opened the box.  “Talia, will you marry me?” 

She nodded, laughing and crying and smiling, and managed, “Of course, Cullen,” before he was on his feet and grabbing for her, the ring forgotten in its box as she clung to him.  Their lips met in a flurry of kisses and yes’s, and Talia’s legs wrapped around his waist as he picked her up and clutched her even closer.  

“Maker, I love you,” he said when he could breathe again.   Talia just laughed, still pressing kisses to his face with unequaled fervor. 

“I love you too.”  Her lips found his again, and for a moment, they reveled in a deep kiss that left them both breathless.  “I knew I ruined something last night,” she squealed when they broke apart. 

“I didn’t want to ask when you’d had such a long day,” Cullen admitted.  “Are you disappointed?” 

She shook her head, hands buried in his curly hair.  “Never.  This is perfect.” 

He kissed her again before letting her slide to the ground.  “That’s all I wanted.” 

"Can I put it on?" She asked, excitement making her giggly.   

"Maker, I hope so."  He took her offered hand and slid the ring onto her finger, breathing a small sigh of relief when it fit perfectly.  His fiancée held her hand aloft to catch the morning sunlight, and his heart melted at the smile on her face as it sparkled.  

“Love you,” she said again, pushing herself up to kiss his nose.  Cullen chuckled.  “And hey, you can finish that letter to your sister now!” 

“I can,” he agreed, though he pulled her closer until they were hip to hip.  “But I may not tell her this next part.” 

She wiggled her eyebrows at him and grabbed his arse.  “Please don’t.”  With a pinch, she leaned up to kiss him, those long, deep kisses that always made him ache.  He’d just about made up his mind to throw her across the desk when she pulled back.  “You know we have to plan a wedding now, right?” 

Cullen blinked.  “Maker, I’d forgotten about that.”  They pondered that logistical nightmare a moment before a shit-eating grin broke over Talia’s face. 

“We could just ask Josie to do it,” she suggested. 

He considered this before he shrugged, hoisted her into his arms, and made for the ladder.  “Why don’t we elope?  It’ll be nice and peaceful, no sisters or ambassadors to harass us about flowers or music…” 

She grinned.  “You had me at run away together, Commander.” 

He smiled.  “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” she replied.  Quickly she kissed his nose and wiggled out of his arms.  “Now get up here and celebrate with me!”  She turned and started up the ladder, leaving Cullen to follow her into the next step of their lives. 

 

 


End file.
